


With All My Heart

by Fictionista654



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Depression, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 15:33:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18318146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionista654/pseuds/Fictionista654
Summary: Merlin has a bad night, but Arthur's there to see him through it.





	With All My Heart

It is midnight, and everything is wrong. The living room thermostat swears it’s twenty-three degrees in here, but Merlin is shaking violently. He paces from one end of the room to the other, trying to be quiet. It’s Friday night, but still. No reason to wake Arthur if he doesn’t have to. The distressing sense of _not right_ flips Merlin’s stomach, and his gorge rises. He catches himself just before he bangs his head against the wall. If Arthur weren’t sleeping over, he’d go for it, but, God. God. Fuck.

Merlin bites down on his arm, hard, but the heavy fog of his distress refuses to lift. Harder, harder, until his jaw aches and he’s afraid to open his mouth and assess the damage. He stands against the wall, crying furiously and silently, with his jaw locked on his arm and this is pathetic, this is ridiculous, and his grief is an ocean. He unsticks his teeth and winces at at soft sound of skin slipping from bone. He can’t see through his tears, but if he could, he’s sure the sight of the bite-mark on his arm would make him cry harder.

It’s hard to cry silently, and a few voice-lined gasps escape. He presses his hands against his mouth and sinks to the floor against the wall, pulling himself into a ball, as if that will help contain his cries.

He rocks back and forth, and his face hurts from being screwed up so tightly, and there’s snot and tears everywhere, sinking into his sweatshirt, pooling on his sweatpants, and he wishes he could let it all go and sob the way his body is telling him to, but Arthur, Arthur’s in the bedroom, and, yeah, it had been nice to sleep in the same bed as his boyfriend, but Merlin’s not doing much sleeping now, is he? If Arthur weren’t here, Merlin would be free to kick the couch cushions and throw his shoes against the wall, and if that didn’t work, his head, but he’s not free, and this is why he doesn’t let people stay the night, this is why. He loses his balance and hits his side against the floor. He doesn’t bother sitting back up, just pulls his knees into his chest and pants until the tears come back.

Footseps, and Merlin tells himself to sit up, but he’s crying too hard. A click as the bedroom door opens, and another one as Arthur turns on the light. Merlin moans and rolls against the wall, trying to get away from the harsh fluourescent. Arthur must get the message because the light goes off again. Merlin can hear Arthur’s footsteps on the carpet, and he holds his breath like he’s a child willing himself invisible.

“Merlin?”

Merlin doesn’t respond; he can’t respond. Responding would mean speaking, and he doesn’t have any words right now. A rustling sound that is Arthur sitting down, and a warm hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m here, Merlin,” Arthur says. “I’m right here.” His hand rubs circles into Merlin’s back, and now Merlin might as well, so he lets himself cry the way he needs to. This is an exorcism that happens often, but Arthur doesn’t know that, and Merlin hopes he’s not scaring him. The power of his unhappiness takes over his body, makes him roll back and forth like he can fling it off. He kicks his feet against the floor, and Arthur puts his free hand on Merlin’s calf. When Merlin doesn’t stop flinging his body, Arthur lies down with his chest to Merlin’s back and spoons him. He doesn’t hold too tight, gives Merlin room to flail, but he’s there, his body comforting and solid. When Merlin tries to throw himself against the wall again, Arthur pulls him back, but besides that, he doesn’t demand anything.

The attack fades as slowly as it always does. The end starts with the usual brush of exhuastion, which Merlin always tries to overcome, filled as he is with the desire to _throw scream break open crack ooze fall down fall apart smash his head against the wall obliterate himself_. Then there is the second wave, much stronger than the first, which tugs his muscles down and fills his eyes with grain. When the third pulse of exhaustion comes, Merlin must admit defeat. He lies limp against Arthur and lets his eyes drift closed. He’s too conjested to breathe through his nose, and too tired to care; the only time Merlin can bear to breathe through his mouth is after fits like these. He’s afraid that Arthur will try to lead him back to bed, but all Arthur does is tighten his hold. Very soon, Merlin is asleep.

 

Scratchy against his cheek, mouth stale, probably putrid, eyes glued closed. Arm numb—why? Last night trickles into Merlin’s memory like coffee through a filter. Throat hurts—he was crying. Yes, crying, stuck pacing the living room. Merlin sits up in a panic, rubbing at his eyes. “Arthur?”

“I’m right here,” Arthur says, sitting up too. At some point last night, he must have gotten the blanket from Merlin’s bed because they are both covered by the soft white duvet.

“We’re on the floor,” says Merlin. 

“Not much gets past you, does it?” says Arthur, and Merlin grins sheepishly.

“Guess not.” He goes to rub his face again and freezes. He must have bitten especially hard last night; the indentations are red and angry. In a few days, they’ll be purple. He won’t be able to wear short sleeves to work on Monday. Arthur follows his gaze. At first Merlin thinks—prays—that Arthur will ignore it and move on. But then, gently, delicately, Arthur takes Merlin’s arm in his hands and raises the bite-mark to his lips, holding Merlin’s eyes in his steady gaze as he kisses the patch of damaged of skin.

“Oh,” Merlin whispers. Arthur’s lips are so soft that Merlin thinks his heart may break. 

“Is this okay?” Arthur says. Mutely, Merlin nods. Arthur presses kisses up his arm and into his neck, pulls Merlin back against his chest and kisses the top of his head. Merlin melts against him. He doesn’t want to ruin this moment, but he also has to know.

“Last night didn’t scare you off, then?” said Merlin. “Because I understand if my depression’s too much. People don’t always understand what they’re in for when I say I have mental health problems, and—”

“Merlin,” says Arthur. “Last night, you cooked us the most delicious dinner I’ve had in ages. We watched a godawful film and laughed for hours. We slept together, and it was perfect. You crying took up, what, twenty minutes? Half an hour?”

“That’s not the point,” says Merlin, his throat tight. 

“Then what is?” says Arthur. “You think that I should leave because you’re more unhappy that other people I could date? Because you’re, what, a burden?” His sigh ruffle’s Merlin’s hair. “I know you have depression, Merlin. I’ve been dating you for five months. Nobody comes without their problems. If anything, the biggest burden is your snoring.”

“I do not snore!” says Merlin, twisting around to look at Arthur. “That’s you!” 

“We can agree to disagree,” Arthur says smoothly. “The point is, I know you have a mental illness. I understand what that means. And I’m willing to be here for you. I _want_ to be here for you.” His blue eyes blaze in the sunlight coming through the window. “I love you, Merlin. I love every part of you, every bit of your body and every bit of your brain. You’ll have to try much harder if you want to get rid of me.”

“Oh, my God,” says Merlin. “That’s such a romantic thing to say—if you’re a serial killer.”

“Merlin! I’m baring my soul, if you don’t mind.”

“Right, sorry.” Merlin slides his fingers through Arthur’s. “Carry on.”

“As I was _saying_ ,” says Arthur. “I love you. Completely.”

“And you’ll tell me if I’m too much?” Merlin says anxiously.

“If your _depression_ is too much for me to handle on my own, yeah, maybe we’ll book some couple’s therapy or something. But I’m telling you, Merlin, and I need you to listen to what I’m saying, I’m telling you that I want to be here. I am choosing to be here. You’re my—I can’t believe I’m about to say this—you’re my missing piece. The other side of my coin. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Merlin realizes that he’s crying. These are nothing like last night’s tears. They are tears of relief, tears of joy. Tears of love. “Arthur,” he says. “I love you, too. With all my heart.”

“With all my heart,” Arthur echoes, and they sit there in a comfortable silence for quite some time.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has been commenting and leaving kudos on my work! Like Merlin's crying is for him, writing these pieces has been a sort of exorcism for me. There are lots of aspects of depression not commonly shown in media, and "temper tantrums" are one of them. They're not fun. Not everyone has an Arthur to hug them through it. Not all Arthurs are up to the task, and that's okay. But this is my fic, and my Arthur will never leave his Merlin.


End file.
